


Another Day, Another Drink

by shirleytemplar



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bad Weather, F/M, One Shot, alcohol use, bartending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1224376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirleytemplar/pseuds/shirleytemplar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During his days working at Bad Weather, Desmond Miles ran into a blonde student from a nearby university. The second time he sees her changes his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Day, Another Drink

**Author's Note:**

> For optimum reading enjoyment, please listen to this: http://www.infinitelooper.com/?v=TFbfdfaWyLA&p=n

The club smelled like hard liquor and sweat. Flashing lights and heavy beat music ricocheted around the room, creating unwavering vibration. Desmond Miles stood behind the bar, mixing and pouring drinks almost as fast as they were being ordered.

The entire evening had been like this: a lull while the club rats danced and sweat before a rush to get drinks lest they sober up. He had just finished pouring a tray of martinis for the VIP room when a commotion near the door caught his eye.

A group of three young women ushered inside — two brunettes and a blonde. The first brunette was tall and curvy, wearing a fairly modest blue dress, while the second was a bit shorter and a bit more athletic, with defined shoulders sticking out beneath the sleeves of her blouse. Between them was the blonde, practically dragged in by her two friends. She was laughing uncomfortably and shaking her head. Desmond smirked. She was out of place compared to the rest of the club. Instead of a short skirt and a revealing top, she was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a black tank top with her hair swept back into a tight bun at the back of her head.

Shaking his head, the bartender returned his focus to his job; he had a big night ahead of him. Before long, one of the brunettes came up and ordered three cosmos for herself and her friends. She flirted with Desmond as best she could before darting back to the table with the drinks balanced in her hands.

The break in the action was proving a bit boring, as usual. There was never a happy medium of women coming for drinks and down time to watch them dance. Every once in a while, Desmond would look over at the blonde and her friends. Throughout the course of the evening, both brunettes migrated out onto the dance floor and disappeared into the crowd. The blonde would sit there, swirling her drink in her hand and sighing heavily. She’d check her watch, sniff the martini and tug on her hair.

Desmond couldn’t help but smile. Sure, the women on the floor were incredible, but every now and then it was nice to see a woman who wasn’t dressed to get laid. While he would have liked to see what her legs looked like beneath the jeans, he had a feeling she had a bit more substance to her than the majority of the ladies in the room.

He was just letting his mind wander on the subject of what she looked like in a dress when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.

“What can I get you?” He asked as he turned. Right in front of him, with a soft smile on her face and bright blue eyes, was the blonde.

“What’s the house special?” She said, sitting down at the empty bar.

“Well, anything I can mix up for you. But my own personal invention is the Shirley Templar.” Desmond smirked, proud of his creation.

The blonde seemed a little taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a Shirley Temple with gin.”

“Oh… Huh.” She sighed heavily and leaned her chin on her hand. “I’ll take it.”

“Anything wrong?” Desmond asked, glancing at her while he started her drink.

She looked at him for a moment before shrugging lightly. “I’m not really a… Club person.”

Desmond smirked and set the drink in front of her. “I hadn’t noticed.”

The blonde laughed and pulled the drink closer. “Might as well get a little drunk… My friends dragged me here instead of letting me study like I wanted to.”

“On a Friday night?” Desmond laughed, flipping the towel off his shoulder and beginning to scrub down the bar. “You must be a student.”

“Yep,” she lifted the glass to her mouth and took a drink.

"What’s your major?”

“Well…” She took another quick sip and put the glass down. “I guess technically, it’s genetic engineering.”

“Holy shit.”

She laughed, seemingly pleased that he was impressed. She watched the bartender for a moment, searching for a nametag. When she didn’t find one, she lifted her drink to her lips and looked at him over the cup.

“So… What’s your name?” She asked.

Desmond smiled. “It’s Desmond.” He wiped off his hand and reached out to shake hers.

“Nice to meet you, Desmond.” She smiled and took his hand. “I’m—Kate!”

From seemingly out of nowhere, one of the brunette women was suddenly upon them, sobbing and clutching to her friend as if someone was going to take her away.

“I saw him here! I saw Daniel!”

It was obvious the brunette was hysterical and Desmond backed off. This had nothing to do with him.

“Kate, calm down. Where’s Sam?” The blonde asked, taken aback. Desmond frowned a bit, realizing the brunette’s name was Kate, not the blonde.

“She’s—She’s—“ The brunette dissolved into tears again.

“Alright come on, let’s get you out of here.” The blonde tossed her arm around her friend and began ushering towards the door. She was three steps away from the bar when she suddenly realized she hadn’t paid and dug her hand into her pocket.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s on me.” Desmond called to her.

“Are you sure?”

“Just… Tell me your name!”

Even through the smog and strobe lights, he saw her smile. “Lucy!”

And with that, she and her sobbing friend were gone.

* * *

It had been a while since his encounter with that woman, a few years at least. Every once in a while, he’d let himself fantasize that she’d come back with her friends. She was cute and smart, and shit, in this part of town that was an accomplishment.

But today, the constant thumping bass was starting to get to Desmond’s head. Any other night and it would have been business as usual but everything was pissing him off. The crowd seemed different, or the lights kept going on the fritz. Honestly he wasn’t sure why, but a dull ache at the back of his eyes was beginning to mess with him.

He was a bartender for Christ’s sake, wasn’t this kind of stress reserved for neurosurgeons and rocket scientists? He grunted, flipping around the martini shaker in his hand and pouring the drink into a glass.

He hadn’t been sleeping well lately, he realized, turning his back to the bar to grab a new bottle of vodka out from beneath the back counter. It was like he just couldn’t get comfortable. One morning, he’d come home and sworn that someone had been in his apartment. The next day it felt like he was being followed back to his place.  He’d taken the long way and stopped for groceries yet hadn’t seen anyone.

Having finally retrieved the bottle of liquor from the chiller, Desmond turned back to the bar fully expecting to see two or three angry club rats with drink orders. Much to his surprise, no one was leaning against the bar, panting and red faced with fucked up hair.

Watching all the people on the floor was somewhat hypnotizing. The strobe lights and heavy music combined with the cigarette smoke and humidity made the entire place feel as if it was in a drug-driven fog. From behind the bar, it wasn’t so bad. You could see the bathroom (including whenever two people slipped back there for a exhibitionist quickie) and usually the front door, but the general dance floor was a tangle of bodies.

Stealing a quick glance around to ensure no one was looking, Desmond popped the lid of the vodka bottle, grabbed a shot glass and poured the sharp liquid into it. Another cautionary look around the club and he knocked it back. He had just stowed the now-dirty glass beneath the counter when a man with slicked black hair came up to the bar and ordered enough drinks to quench the thirst of a small battalion for the VIP room.

Desmond scowled as the man turned away, and set to work preparing the drinks. He’d been working here long enough to know not to backtalk the customers. Not for the sake of his job, but for the sake of not getting into a fight. Once, a man had come into the club and downed nearly an entire bottle of vodka before disappearing to the bathroom. They’d found him the next morning, collapsed in the bathroom and mumbling some conspiracy about a pharmaceutical company. When Desmond had tried to wake him, the man had lunged and landed a pretty good hit before he and one of the bouncers wrestled the lunatic out into the street.

While Desmond stood wrapped up in his own thoughts and preparing the drinks, he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening around him. As he turned to set down a glass on the back counter, his elbow knocked the full vodka bottle off the bar and sent it crashing to the dirt-covered concrete floor.

“Shit!” He hissed, jumping as the glass shattered and the liquid went everywhere.

It was as if the universe did not want him to have a normal evening. Desmond grabbed the hand broom and dustpan from under the bar, grumbling angrily to himself. He yanked the dishtowel from his shoulder and dropped it on the slowly spreading vodka before crouching down and beginning to pick the larger pieces of glass into the dustpan.

“Hey, asshole! Where are my drinks?”

Desmond turned to look back at the man. “Bigger problems, right now.” He barked, trying not to seem as agitated as he was. “Get to them in a second.”

“Screw your tip, then!” The man snapped, tossing his lacquered head back and marching away.

 _Easy Desmond,_  he thought, closing his eyes and turning back to the broken bottle.  _Easy._  He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and the first thing he was a pair of bright red fuck me pumps about two inches from the edge of the vodka pool.

Despite himself, Desmond let out a low whistle, trailing his eyes upwards. The pumps lead to perfect calves and it only got better from there. As his eyes roved up her hips, he heard every bad pick up line he'd ever heard ringing in his ears and bit his tongue to ensure none of them came tumbling out. At a length that would be frowned upon by nearly every organized institution began a tight red dress, slithering up her body and leaving almost nothing to the imagination. It curved inwards at the top of her breasts and came together in a tight V. As if the bright red lips and big blue eyes weren’t enough, her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun and Desmond was having trouble fighting the mental image of one of those sexy librarian pin ups.

“You busy?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, amused.

It took him a moment to realize that this angel on a pair of perfect stems was actually talking to him and he snapped his mouth closed to clear his throat.

“Well um…” He looked down at the broken bottle for a moment before looking back up at her. “Not at all.”

The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. She was a new breed, Desmond thought, watching her slink around to one of the few bar stools. Usually the only people who came here were the usual club rats, only interested in booze and sex, and although the dress may have hinted towards the latter, there was something different about this woman…

“What can I get for you?” Desmond asked, trying to step up his A-game.

The blonde thought for a moment before leaning forward on the bar. She lifted her hand and gestured for him to come closer with one long finger. He bit down on the inside of his lip to keep him from doing anything stupid and leaned forward.

“I’ll have a Shirley Templar,” she whispered.

A very distinct shiver darted up his spine as he leaned back. It was just that the music was so loud, he told himself. She didn’t want to yell it, that’s all. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

“You’ve been here before then?” Desmond turned his back to the woman and set about mixing the drink, pleased. People didn’t always remember the name of his signature drink, so it made him a little bit proud when they did.

“Once, a while ago.” She said, sliding onto a stool.

“Well, here you go. My specialty,” Once he was satisfied that the drink was mixed just right, he dropped a maraschino cherry into the glass and set it down before her. She nodded her head in thanks and picked up the cherry by the stem.

 _Oh god no_ , Desmond thought as he watched her. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to do what he knew she was about to; he just didn’t think he could take it. She lifted the cherry to her mouth and the second it touched her lips he broke his eyes from hers and turned to hastily scrub the bar.

Although he didn’t see it, the blonde smiled and pulled the cherry off the stem. She quickly adjusted her dress in a rather unladylike fashion and took a sip from her drink.

After a moment, Desmond felt her eyes on him and glanced up.

In the few moments he had looked away, she had pulled her hair down from her bun and was pushing a hand through it to comb it out. She tossed her head back and rested her chin on her hand, watching him.

Desmond swallowed hard.

“Your name is Desmond, right?” She asked before casually slipping onto the stool directly in front of him.

“Yeah, how’d you know that?”

“You really don’t remember me, do you?”

Desmond paused, his memory suddenly running wild in the search for a name, a location and a situation. Shit, he would remember a girl like this. She did seem vaguely familiar, but still so different from anything he had seen before.

“Am… Am I supposed to?” He spoke cautiously, lest he insult her. She laughed and shook her head, blonde tresses falling over her shoulders.

“I suppose not.”

“Well, what’s your name?” Desmond smiled.

“Oh, no, that would be too easy.” She lifted the glass to her lips and took a drink.

There was something almost other-worldly about her mouth, particularly her lips. The shape they made when she smiled, the way they caught her teeth as if she were trying not to bite them. Again, his mind began to wonder and he felt another shiver shoot across his spine. He looked away quickly and tried to control himself. He’d just managed to get the thought of a cold shower running when the blonde propped herself on the bar and cleared her throat.

“Can I help you?” Desmond tried to focus on cleaning the bar but was having trouble keeping his eyes front, and away from the plunge in the woman’s dress.

“Tell me about yourself, Desmond,” She said, spilling the straw in her drink. “You got a family?”

He laughed, bitterly. “Family is kind of a rough subject. My parents were wack-jobs. No siblings. I ran away from home when I was sixteen.”

“Wow… What was wrong with your parents?”

“Conspiracy nuts,” Desmond explained. “Thought that people were out to get us.” He shrugged and the girl looked down.

“Well, hey, let me buy you a shot.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” He laughed.

“Come on, I insist.” She produced a fold of bills from what seemed like nowhere and set down the money for her drink and the shot. He smirked and took the money before snatching a new bottle of vodka out of the freezer and pouring himself a shot.

“Cheers,” the blonde raised her glass and Desmond raised his shot. They drank in unison and smiled when they finished.

“Thanks,” Desmond set the glass in the bin to be washed and finally remembered the broken bottle of vodka from before. He excused himself and grabbed the hand broom once more. Once he had swept up the glass and deposited it in the trash, he hollered to one of the waitresses trolling the floor to bring him a mop.

The blonde had not taken her eyes off of him the entire time. She sat in silence, sipping her drink and watching the bar tender as he bustled about cleaning up the mess. Shortly after he’d finished, he made a tray of martinis and handed it to the waitress who brought him the broom.

“Take this to the VIP room. Tell them it’s on me and sorry it took so long.”

He’d completely forgotten to fill the order after the woman had shown up. So now a full bottle of vodka and a tray of drinks would be coming out of his paycheck. Great.

“You look like your dog just got hit by a car,” the woman called over suddenly. Desmond looked up and sighed.

“Money’s tight,” he explained, stewing the intact bottle of vodka beneath the bar.

“I know that feeling,”

“Doesn’t everyone in this town?”

The blonde laughed and tossed her hair back, exposing her pale neck and shoulder. Desmond bit down on the inside of his lip and began sorting the glasses on the bar. All the women who came through the bar were gorgeous, and once they started dancing they were intoxicating. She was so, very different. She was gorgeous, certainly, but...

“Let me buy you another shot.” She said suddenly, tugging on the hem of her dress.

“Oh, I shouldn’t.”

“Come on, I’m here by myself. The least I can do is buy a gorgeous man a drink. Besides, I owe you.” A small smile pulled on her lips and Desmond’s brow furrowed.

“Do I know you?”

“You might,” she produced the money for the shot and again he retrieved the vodka.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.”

“Who says I’m not?” She smiled over her drink at him. He tossed back the shot, finally beginning to feel the other two. He braced himself against the bar for a moment to catch his breath, the alcohol still burning in his throat. He suddenly couldn't remember if he'd eaten dinner that night. Or anything at all. Ever.

“Hey,” The blonde stood up and leaned forward. “You wanna dance?”

“I’m not really supposed to leave the bar.”

“Aww, come on.” She stuck out her lower lip playfully and batted her eyes. “I’ll tell you my name!”

Desmond smiled and looked around the bar. None of the patrons seemed to be bee lining directly for him, and he was allowed a fifteen minute break now and then.

“One dance,” he said, walking around to the side of the bar. The blonde smiled and stepped up to him. She grabbed his tie, pulling it free from its vest and lead him out onto the floor.

The bass pulsed in Desmond’s chest as they moved out amongst the mass of bodies. They started slow, with enough space between them to be comfortable but before long, the pressure of the people around them and the grind of the beat pulled them closer together. The girl lifted her arms and rested them on his shoulders as she spun her hips in front of him. The haze of the alcohol was starting to get to him. Desmond Miles was no light-weight, and maybe it was the dancing, but he felt himself slipping away into the music as the blonde drew herself closer. His hands found her waist and gripped the fabric of her dress. She looked up at him and something about her eyes made the shiver return. His leg slipped between hers and her hand found the back of his neck. She gripped his hair and bit her lip as his hips found hers. Desmond lost track of time as they danced; all that mattered was her body against his. They moved in such unison, and so perfectly, that he found himself having trouble remaining in control.

Finally, he managed to lead down to her ear.

“You never told me your name,” he whispered, feeling her body seize up in his hands.

“Lucy,” She breathed and pushed herself against him.

“Lucy,” Desmond repeated, pushing her hair back with one hand and nipping at her neck. “I thought I recognized you.”

Her free arm laced around his shoulders and she exhaled. “Bathroom?” She was panting, still dancing to the music vibrating around them. The heat of her breath on his ear and the quiver in her voice set him off.

Desmond wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he might have moaned.

Lucy grabbed his hand and pulled him through the crowd. Between the jostle of bodies, the pulse of the music and the almost insurmountable heat, he felt like this was a dream. The fog of smoke swirled around them — everything was a blur of flashing lights.

Lucy spun around when they reached the bathroom door, looking behind Desmond before pushing through and pulling him along. Once the door closed, the music became only a deep rhythm echoing off the tiled walls and drowning out the noise from the street above.

He hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her to the wall. She bit down hard on her lip as he moved his mouth back to her neck. He growled her name and she gasped, gripping his shirt. He bent and wrapped a hand under her thigh, lifting her leg and moving against her. Her hands gripped his shoulders as his roved up her skirt. Desmond pulled back for a fraction of a second, moving to kiss her when she suddenly shoved him backwards and looked around the room in a panic.

A little dumbstruck, Desmond looked around too.

“Is… Everything alright?”

“Desmond, there isn’t much time,” she rounded on him, breathing hard. “Your parents were right.”

He laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“No, shut up. They were right. The war is real. The Templars are coming for you  _right now_  and you have to get out of here. I’m supposed to sedate so you won’t cause trouble, “ she produced a syringe from her bag and shoved him towards the window leading up to the street. “But if you get away now, I can just say you over powered me.”

“What?” Confusion washed over Desmond. Was this chick for real? The lack of blood in his brain at this moment was only making the entire situation worse.

“Desmond, please, just run.” She moved up against him again, pushing him towards the window. “You just need to get out of here.  _Please_!”

He had just taken a step backwards towards the window when the door to the bathroom suddenly flew open with a bang. Lucy shot a look back over her shoulder before nearly pouncing on Desmond. Three men sprinted in and a sharp, swift pain in his leg caused Desmond to yell. His vision blurred and faded as the three men descended upon him, catching him as he fell back.

The last thing he saw before his consciousness slipped away was the blonde, Lucy, holding an empty syringe and mouthing the words, “I’m sorry.”


End file.
